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[justify][font=arial] He's cold.
That, of course, is a given even in the midst of summer's sticky heat. Blood pumps sluggishly through collapsing veins, his heart beats like a funeral procession - his body thus, inadequately provided for by the rotting organs within, is unnaturally cold to the touch. He's used to it by now. The passing years have given him time to adjust.
Blue-tinged paws bear bloody bones where the thin skin of his knuckles have since peeled away, pus-dripping lesions in his muzzle rip dangling holes in his jowls to reveal blackened teeth. His fur is matted, his bones jutting, his face worn. It is not beautiful. He is not beautiful - but again, he's had plenty of time to accept this truth. His rotting body is nothing more than a corpse too stubborn to give in to mother earth's hands, a machine that only functions to carry his soul until it can find solace in a body that lives. It would be ironic for him to claim that appearances were something of importance to him.
He's used to clans of every kind and caliber. He hails from Sunclan but had wandered for months, years - to the point where he'd lost count of just how many places he'd seen. Perhaps now, after a good year of silence, he'd finally find a place that soothed his wanderlust and offered him a home; the likelihood was slim even if he wanted to settle down.
"Kavinsky. Joining." Short, sweet. He wasn't the talkative type when it came to people he didn't know nor could judge by his first impression.
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